


Happenstance

by MagicRobot



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Some Humor, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicRobot/pseuds/MagicRobot
Summary: Slipstream finds a name on her plating. While investigating further, she runs into said name's owner. Like destiny or something.





	Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a response to a prompt I got on my tumblr! I like to think that this takes place in an alternative season 3 AU, wherein everything (that I remember) happened, just that soulmates are a thing.

Slipstream scratched at the name marring her plating, only succeeding in chipping the paint around the word.  _ Blackarachnia  _ still looked as elegant as ever, written in a pretty cursive that seemed to flow together effortlessly. She scowled, rubbing at her arm, the plating still smooth to the touch, slightly sticky where  _ Blackarachnia _ was scrawled. 

The name itself - and she concluded that it must have been a name because it didn't sound like the type of word spoken in casual conversation - sounded familiar, something that scratched at the back of her processor that she couldn't quite place. Maybe Starscream had mentioned it in passing in one of his rantings. Even if he were still alive, Slipstream would loath to ask him about it, partly because she hated him, but mostly because she’d rather seek out the information on her own. She was stubborn like that; unwilling to ask others for help even if it would aid her.

The name was a more recent phenomena, too, only appearing within the last week, which made it easier to hide from what remained of her brothers. Not that she really cared about what they would say about it. They were all a pack of idiots in her optics, anyway, and if it weren't for the begrudging feelings of kinship she felt with them, she would have abandoned them swiftly the first opportunity she got. 

However, her secret was safe until just moments before, when Skywarp managed to spot the markings, swallowing his nerves enough to ask her about it. Skywarp was her favorite, only because he was easily cowered to stay out of her way. It was this fact that saved him from losing an optic. But if there was one thing that they all shared in common, it was an insatiable curiosity, and Skywarp was perhaps the worst case.

In the ensuing confrontation, Skywarp trilled something about a “destined person,” to which 

Slipstream had snorted, waving him away. She didn't need fanciful, romantic notions about people she didn't even know. And she certainly didn't need her cowardly brother crowing at her about it. 

She rubbed at the plating again. She knew Skywarp wouldn't tell Thundercracker nor Sunstorm about it, only because he was terrified of both of them and tended to try and avoid them. Not that she particularly cared either way, she just didn't want to deal with more nosy brothers.

It did leave her curious because she knew that none of them had one on their own arms. She did remember a name being scrawled across Starscream’s arm, but she only ever caught short glimpses of it, never enough time to really decipher what it said. 

At this point, her frustration was beginning to eat away at her. She hated mysteries. She hated not knowing something. Her wings twitched erratically, catching onto the subtle breeze where she stood out in the open. Perhaps a long flight will help burn off some of the excess energy she was building up.

\--

One of the more frustrating things about living as a rogue was the lack of a proper database. Slipstream barely held enough resources to keep her and her brothers safe, yet alone the ability to maintain a supercomputer. The abandoned ship they've huddled into was corroded enough already, bits of it falling off almost every day. There was no thought put into piecing together the old teletran outside of the basics - making sure it could still work the lights and the energon dispenser for one. The practical part of Slipstream was perfectly fine with that. But her current situation left her lacking in rationale. She couldn't help but bemoan the lack of actual information.

Flying helped keep her mind steady, if only for a short while. She attempted to keep herself blank, only focusing on the changing air pressure and the feel of gathering raindrops on her wingtips. It worked, up until a blip on her radar had her sensors on high alert. 

She descended a fraction from her high altitude, ever careful of an Autobot ambush. It was remote enough where she was that it was unlikely for her to run into one, but she didn't want to test that theory. She circled around the trigger, gauging that it was an abandoned outpost of some kind - Cybertronian by the looks of it. One more fly-by of the vicinity only provided that no life signs were detected. 

As she descended further, she picked up on the fact that the place looked well maintained, at least for an object that was meant to be abandoned. It unsettled her, but she was driven on by an idea. This place was bound to have a decent database, hopefully one that was equally as well kept as the outside of the base. Her answers may lay right behind the heavy door.

She transformed, her blasters held out in front of her while she surveyed the grounds. When nothing out of the ordinary happened, she relaxed minutely, strutting up to the door with her usual confidence. It was pried open easy enough and she walked into the darkness.

\--

The lights overhead were automatic, turning on only as she walked under them. It made for a very perilous runway; only knowing what was immediately in front of her. She walked slowly, her audios tuned to pick up every little sound. It was deceptively quiet, only the clicking of her thrusters haunting the hallways, only heightening her growing feelings of unease.

The facility was large, with twisting hallways that led to nowhere. A dead end here, a looping corner there. She grew impatient after the first twenty minutes, small growling noises of frustration escaping her vocalizer. 

Huffing, she turned another corner, miraculously coming across a deep set of stairs that traveled far below the base. The space was narrow, barely big enough to contain her wings. Cringing, she pressed on.

It was a long trip down. She felt claustrophobic, every little scrape against her wings made her grit her dentae. Her peripheral sensors were receiving interference, too, only worsening the further down she went, making it twice as difficult to navigate. She fought the urge to panic, even as the stairway gave way to a brightly lit room, glossy with freshly polished gunmetal walls. 

The room around her was some sort of command center, large with several monitors dotting the walls. Each one was fuzzy with distortion, creating an otherworldly effect. Her wings stretched imperceptibly as she walked the circumference. Each one was in perfect working order, simply not tuned to any sort of frequency. She looked at each one curiously, her optics sweeping over each one. The fuzz made her optics cross.

Finally, she came upon what she was searching for. At the center of the room was a large teletran, the screen a deep black, but the keyboard lit in a bright orange. It looked in pristine condition, clean and shiny, with only a few small chips marring the screen to show its age. Her audios picked up on a pleasant, inviting him coming from it. 

Slipstream smirked. In a few quick strides, she was in front of the monitor, her talons skimming delicately over the keys. The blackness faded into a bright blue that washed over Slipstream in one large wave. She loaded up the archive. “This had better be worth it.”

\--

There were many things that Slipstream could be researching right now. Ways to build a more efficient base, more economical ways to synthesize energon, or even a few blueprints for a choice superweapon. Yet, here she was, buried under research on a “destined person” - just like Skywarp had told her. It wounded her pride that he would know about something like this before her, but then again, the absurdity of its existence only showed how gullible he was. He had probably only known about it through one of his stupid romance novels. Or at least that's what she told herself. 

She shuffled through another academic paper, scowling that science would even be involved this situation. She took what information she could from the article, between the heavy bits of jargon and occasional self-flattery from the author, and compressed it into a few short sentences to add to a file she had compiled on what she had learned.

So far, she knew that having a name was a rarity in and of itself. On the flip side, people could go their entire lives without a name, only to wake up in the throes of old age to one scrawled across their plating. Destiny was fickle that way: choosey, finicky, but most of all, random. Attempts to understand it were often met with resistance. There were plenty of theories pushed forward, but Slipstream wasn't interested in any of them. What she was interested in was the fact that the person written there was usually someone who was to play an important role at some point in their lives, usually as lover, but just as commonly as an adversary, an inconvenience, or even as a benefactor. It was impossible to predict what a meeting between two names would be like until it actually happened.

She snorted, scratching at her plating again. What absolute nonsense. 

Her peaceful research was cut short however, when she found herself wrapped in a sticky substance, causing her to fall to the floor. She shrieked, her wrists and upper arms bound tightly to her chassis, while her legs were completely wrapped in white. Struggling with it only seemed to make the material tighten, which only encouraged her to shout expletives at her assailant. 

“How dare you?! Get this slag off of me!”

“Hush.” Slipstream watched as a figure appeared from the minimal shadows, taking in the shape of an oddly organic looking femme. One with many eyes and sharp looking legs on her back. Slipstream shuddered. “This is  _ my _ lab.” She held a blaster in her hands, pointing it squarely between Slipstream’s optics. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” Slipstream said, petulantly. She flexed her talons in their prison, trying in vain to cut at the silk. She growled. 

The figure smirked, walking closer to the console. This close, Slipstream could tell that she held a significant size advantage over her, but in her current state, she had no chance of overwhelming her. She had no choice but to wait this out. 

“Destined person, hmm?” The femme turned to her, hand on her hips and a teasing smirk on her lips. She laid the blast on the keyboard, creating a line of keysmash through Slipstream’s document. She scrutinized Slipstream’s prone form, long and hard, almost as if analyzing her, until a spark of recognition lit up her optics. “You're one of Starscream’s clones aren't you?”

Slipstream scowled. “I'd rather not be associated with that buffoon, but yes, I am.”

She laughed. It was a small one, more of a snicker than a proper sign of amusement, ending with a sort of hissing noise. It showed off the fangs lurking in the recesses of her mouth, making Slipstream squirm uncomfortably. “You and me both.”

Slipstream raised an optic ridge at her, but the femme didn't elaborate. Rather she decided to glance through the intact part of Slipsteam’s notes, a predatory smile forming on her face. She circled her then, her figure low and intimidating. “Now why is someone like you in here, researching  _ this  _ of all things.”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Slipstream said, cheekily.

“Why yes I would.” The femme grinned dangerously.She bent over Slipstream, twisting her forearm until  _ Blackarachnia  _ was visible. The talons gripping her were sharp, far sharper than what Slipstream was packing and Slipstream couldn't help a small sound of warning slip from her lips.

The femme’s eyes widened in surprise, before her face blossomed into a wide grin, all sharp teeth, right beside Slipstream’s face. “Why you lucky girl.” She turned her own wrist over, displaying a matching  _ Slipstream  _ in messy scrawl. 

“You're Blackarachnia?!” Slipstream blanched. 

Blackarachnia nodded. “Now, that just leaves the question: are you friend or foe?” She tilted her head, her wide grin growing more mischievous. “Or possibly something more?”

Slipstream shuttered her optics at Blackarachnia. She couldn't really tell her, didn't know much about her to really gauge an opinion. She swiped her optics over her frame and couldn't help but notice Blackarachnia preen at the subtle movement.

Slipstream smirked. “Untie me and we’ll find out.”


End file.
